Nott Quite A Fairytale
by darken-the-legends
Summary: Theo blinks a few times, trying to hold himself steady, because the dark beacon of fear and pain and hatred that his world has always revolved around, the thing that goes by the name of Antinous Nott, cannot just have been… removed. Theo-centric. Theo/Daphne. One-shot.
**Hi :)**

 **This story contains possible triggers. There's nothing graphic but there is (mostly implied) familial abuse so I thought I'd just mention it.**

Theo is three years old. He's sitting on the stairs, clinging to the bannisters so tightly his knuckles are turning purple.

He wanted his mother to read him a story, so he came downstairs even though coming into this part of the house is bad because anything past the kitchens is Off Limits to him.

Now, he doesn't really know what to do.

The drawing room below the stairs isn't very nice, he thinks. Big and dark and full of old tables and stuff, one of which held a glass filled with sparkling liquid, seconds ago.

Until his father smashed it.

Theo's sure he probably didn't mean it, but his face is very red and his arms are moving around quite quickly, which is how the glass got smashed. Theo is a little worried because his mother is looking very scared, although he's not quite sure what of.

His father is talking very loudly, which quickly turns to shouting.

Then one of his arms moves forward and hits Theo's mother across the face, really hard, and Theo lets out a strangled gulp because now his mother's face is white, although it's quickly fading into a darker colour which looks horrible and ugly on her cheek.

His father whirls around, sees him, and drags him down into the dark room which Theo doesn't like, so he starts to cry.

The grip on his arm is too tight, and Theo tries to tell his father this but his father just tells him to _shut up, freak_ and then his face is burning and it really really hurts.

(The next morning, Theo's mother comes into his room very quietly and pulls out her wand and taps his aching cheek and it stops hurting. Then she leaves.)

Theo is six years old, and he's standing in that same formal drawing room with his best clothes on, standing on his toes to make himself look taller… until his father shoves him back down again. Theo doesn't react. He's learned it's better if he doesn't.

There's a tall blonde woman with very pale features and eyes standing there, saying she's _sorry that Lucius couldn't make it, Antinous,_ and _how are you, Cassie, darling,_ to Theo's parents, whose names are Antinous and Cassiopeia. It took Theo years to learn how to spell those. It's lucky their surname is so simple – just 'Nott'.

The woman's son steps forward. He's a bit taller than Theo, which annoys him slightly, with that same blond hair, grey eyes, and an arrogant smirk placed firmly on his features. He looks so sure of himself that Theo is a little in awe.

"Theo, why don't you show Draco your room?" his mother (Theo's, not the blond boy's) says, and Theo nods stiffly, trying to seem as grown-up as the other boy- Draco? - and shows him out of the room.

"I'm Draco Malfoy," he says, and Theo remembers that the Malfoys are another family on the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and very rich and powerful.

"I'm Theo Nott."

Theo is eleven years old, and standing in a crowd of kids his age with Draco – by now his best friend – an Italian called Blaise Zabini, two girls called Daphne and Pansy, whose families are also part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and a couple of mostly silent kids built like junior bodyguards who Draco has following him around.

They're going to be sorted into Houses.

 _Sorted into_ Slytherin, he reminds himself, because this fact has been drummed into him since he was… he doesn't even know. Probably before the first time he saw his father hitting his mother, anyway. If he doesn't get into Slytherin, none of that will matter, because he'll be disowned and maybe dead.

His family haven't killed any blood traitors off in a hundred years or so, but then again there haven't _been_ any Nott blood traitors in about that period of time.

"Nott, Theodore!" the professor calls out with a curl to her lip.

He winces at his full name, and Draco snickers, "Way to go, _Theodore,"_ as he pushes his friend none-too-gently towards the platform.

 _Slytherin, please,_ he chants as he makes his way towards the wobbly stool.

No, it doesn't sound authoritative enough.

 _Put me in Slytherin._ Yep, better.

"Nervous one, eh?" a voice says in his head, one with a supercilious accent, and Theo stops himself from jumping just in time.

Well, not just jumping. Screaming and running all the way back to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

"No," he hisses back.

Oh, wait, the Hat can see inside his head. Great. Just great.

"Hmm… a thirst for knowledge, I see, and a great capacity for it as well. Ravenclaw would suit you well."

 _Just put me in Slytherin!_

"Are you _sure_ that would be the best choice for you?" the Hat muses. "You would do well in Ravenclaw, I repeat. You are hardworking, too… fairly brave…"

 _SLYTHERIN!_ He practically screams. If you could burst your eardrums by thinking too loudly, he would've done by now.

"Very well… SLYTHERIN!" it yells.

The green and silver table applauds. The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws do, too, for the most part. The Gryffindors don't, but Theo doesn't actually notice any of this. His legs wobble, and he is sure his face is white, as he makes his way towards the table where Draco and Vince and Greg and Daphne are waiting for him, cheering.

Well, cheering with dignity.

Theo is thirteen years old, and he's just received a letter from his mother telling him that she loves him, and warning him not to come home for Christmas break.

He winces at the thought of her left there alone, but if Slytherin teaches you something it's the instinct of self-preservation, and Theo knows enough to heed her warning.

"What's got you looking so down?" Draco asks as they sit in the common room doing charms homework. Theo is, anyway. Draco's more lounging on a velvet sofa as Pansy Parkinson coos over him and makes a fuss of his hair.

He shrugs morosely, but then it occurs to him that Draco _does_ actually have some idea of what his father is like, because he's seen Theo with bruises on his face enough times, and despite outward impressions, he's really not stupid.

Just a git, most of the time.

"I can't go back for Christmas break," he admits. "Family problems."

Draco's eyes narrow and then widen, and Theo knows he'd understood.

"Come back to mine!" he says, unexpectedly. "You have to, it'll be great. Mother always gets the house elves to do something special with the Manor for Christmas, and Daphne and her little sister will be coming over for a bit, too. Blaise as well, I think… _way_ better than being stuck here with Potter and all the first years."

Actually, statistically, Theo's fairly sure the first years are _least_ likely to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas, but he doesn't argue and just grins. "That'd be great, thanks. Your parents won't mind?"

Draco waves an airy hand. "Mother'll be thrilled. Father will be happy I've made good political connections."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Theo _does_ end up having a great time at Malfoy Manor.

Draco was right about the décor; the house elves have used enchantments of their own to create huge icicles (well, really made of crystal) that hang delicately from the chandeliers and high ceilings, and flurries of fake snow swirl around (but it doesn't touch anything, or anyone, but it's Narcissa Malfoy). Theo gets presents, more so than usual; mountains of Chocolate Frogs from Vince and Greg, state of the art gloves and magical fireworks from Draco, books from Pansy and Blaise and silver and emerald cufflinks from Daphne, plus a huge box of confectionery from Narcissa.

Although Blaise and Daphne are only there for a few days, they still hang out for that time, and Theo and Draco spend ages practising Quidditch or talking about whatever catches their interest and whether they'll buy it in Diagon Alley.

Draco _does_ spend half the time being an idiotic show off, but that's just how he is, and when Blaise starts whining about his latest stepfather, Daphne and Theo slip off together and just talk, and he finds himself relaxing so much he zones out staring at her silvery blonde hair and big nose and only comes back to reality when Draco sneaks up behind him and does a spell which sticks his hands to his knees, so he can't get up.

It's over all too soon, and upon his return to school, Theo finds a letter written in his mother's graceful, albeit shaky, handwriting, telling him that she is not doing too badly and hoping he'll write to her over Christmas.

He hasn't.

But he forgot to tell her that he was staying with the Malfoys, and consequently he hasn't seen the letter and school starts in three days.

He feels sick.

Theo is sixteen years old, and his father wants him to take the Mark.

Draco has grown more distant throughout the years, and although Theo's fairly sure his 'best friend' is also under pressure, he knows Draco wouldn't tell him. He looks pinched and worried but Theo can't ask him about that either for fear he'll be hexed.

How the hell did the Hat think he was fucking brave?

Oh, yes.

His mother is dead.

She died last year, of _heart failure,_ of all things, and Theo wasn't even there – he had no clue that she was in pain. At the same time she was breathing her last, he was probably laughing with Blaise or talking to Daphne or playing chess with Draco or rolling his eyes at Pansy.

He comes back to Hogwarts after the Easter holidays - weeks of skirting around his father and his father's brusque talk about him becoming a Death Eater and joining Voldemort, and throws himself into his studies in an attempt to forget.

The Hat was right when it told him he had the aptitude to be a Ravenclaw.

Then he and Draco and Vince and Greg and Montague and a few others are all pulled out of classes one morning and told the unspeakable… their parents are in Azkaban.

Draco storms straight out of the room. Vince and Greg just sit there looking dumbfounded. Montague angrily swipes at his eyes, then gets up and follows Draco in much the same manner.

Theo blinks a few times, trying to hold himself steady, because the dark beacon of fear and pain and hatred that his world has always revolved around, the thing that goes by the name of Antinous Nott, _cannot_ just have been… removed.

Well, no. He's not dead.

But he might as well be, to Theo.

He decides he is an orphan, and walks out of the room with a scowl on his face and a tentative smile on his heart.

Not quite, but nearly, free.

Theo is eighteen, and staring at a world of carnage and death and destruction.

Oh, _sure._ Things will be better now, that the Dark Lord – Voldemort – is gone.

So why do his friends walk around looking like ghosts and Draco not talk any more and Theo himself feel so goddamned empty?

He's eighteen, with a wealth of money and power and excellent results in his final exams, free of attachments in this life, yet burdened down by those in the next. And if that sounds stupid, he really doesn't care.

He's done caring.

He cared about his mother, and she died. He cared about his best friend, who abandoned him. He cared about blood purity and idealism… well, he thought he did, at least, and – for what?

"Theo?"

He thought it might be Draco or Blaise, but it's not. It's Daphne.

She moves quickly and lightly towards him, sitting down beside him and leaning her head on his shoulders. They're in an old part of Hogwarts, in a wing that's rarely used. The lake shimmers, turning to gold as incandescent rays of fading orange sunlight hit, the light beginning to sink below the finite horizon.

Theo shivers.

They can't hear any sound, up here, although he knows there must be plenty – groans made by the wounded and muttered spells as people try to set them right or else take them to St. Mungo's, cracks of house elves Apparating in to help, noisy family reunions – or, well, what's left of them. Everyone will be celebrating the fall of Lord Voldemort… everyone except those few Death Eaters left alive… _people,_ with others who _care,_ and Theo wonders bitterly if anyone on either side realised that this would be the extent of the carnage as they charged into the foray, or if they were filled with the righteous thoughts of doing the 'right thing'.

Or, else, if this seemingly unique perspective he has is only there because he has no family, no real ties on either side except those of his friends.

His father has been killed.

He can't even find it in himself to admit he's sad.

Tears fill his eyes a little, at the edges, and Daphne looks at him with eyes that don't blame him, and says gently, "It's okay, Theo. It's okay."

And he'd like nothing more than to shake his head vehemently and scream to the world that none of this is okay, that should he even be feeling something _-_ when she moves in front of him and catches his gaze. He can't look away. Her eyes aren't anything special – just a pale, clear, blue-grey, but to Theo they are everything because they hold him captivated, transfixed, with the strength of her gaze – her irreproachful gaze.

"It's okay to be human," she whispers, and he blinks furiously because he is _not_ crying in front of this girl – he is _not._

But, inevitably, he does.

And finally when his eyes are blotchy and red and they've both cried all there is to cry, he turns his head back to her and murmurs, "I miss her. I really miss her, Daph."

He doesn't have to explain it's his mum.

She looks at him, pain-filled and understanding, and doesn't flinch away.

Now would be a perfect time to kiss her, he thinks dreamily. To just move that extra inch closer and envelop her lips with his, gently, so gently they'll both forget how to breathe.

But he doesn't, because Daphne is his friend, and because an abandoned area of a warzone is not the right place or time for it anyway.

They sit there in silence.

Theo wishes the world could restart.

Theo is twenty-one years old, and he's lying facedown on the very stairs he watched his father hit his mother below, eighteen years ago. He's finally selling Nott Estate. The house that's been in his family for six hundred years.

Honestly, he doesn't know why he waited so long to do it.

He's taken nearly everything he wants from it already – the few possessions he actually needs and likes have been casually thrown into his old Hogwarts trunk, magically expanded, along with two Gringotts keys – one for Vault 59, which is the Nott ancestral one and stuffed full of expensive garbage, and one for Vault 2021, his new acquisition with a thousand galleons in it as a start-up amount.

He hasn't wasted the last few years, after all. He's been gathering experience and mending his broken relationships with his friends, particularly Draco, whom he and Daphne and her little sister have gradually been coaxing out of seclusion.

There's just this area of the house to go through, putting the few sentimental heirlooms into Vault 59, taking the stuff he wants and selling the rest, before he moves into his new flat in a small place near Diagon Alley and starts his new job at the Ministry.

He's not looking forward to this stage.

Hence why he is lying on the stairs – he wasn't going to stop here, but then his knees sort of collapsed and then he was in this position, remembering where everything had been on that night. He has a good memory, helped by the fact nothing except the wine glass and his arguing parents have disappeared. Merlin, he never even knew what that fight was about.

The phantom pain of his father's slap ghosts across his cheek, replaced seconds later by a spreading, soothing feeling – his mother's healing spell.

He mentally shakes himself, picking himself up off the panelled staircase and moving into the gloom that is the lower drawing room where he first met Draco. Happy memories, he thinks. Not sad. Happy.

There's nothing he wants from this room, but as he goes into the adjoined one something catches his eye at once.

It must be his father's old study, even though he never was invited in. There are heavy curtains done in grey across the windows, and although normally he would throw them back and tie them into place with the silver tasselled ropes, he'd prefer to keep this excursion as private as possible… even thought there's no way anyone would be outside the window. He's being paranoid as usual.

He rests his hands on the large, solid mahogany desk. Despite its probable expense and valued heirloom status, it's ungainly and ugly, with etchings and carvings of his ancestors and scratches here and there, where someone has pressed too hard with a quill – probably accentuating a point in a letter. And probably not a good one.

He doesn't care for it, at all – one thing he _does_ want, however, is what might lie within it. A cursory inspection showed him nothing of interest anywhere else in the room – if there is anything, it has been well-hidden, and his father was not, unlike Theo himself, prone to subtlety. The only things of importance will be in the desk.

Although his father was vain, he was not stupid – the drawers do not unlock with a simple _alohomora_ , and Theo has nearly run through his entire and impressively extensive range of unlocking spells when it occurs to him the best thing to do will be to break the wood itself.

He cleanly slices it open with the use of _diffindo,_ then places the severed piece of wood on top of a pile of spare parchment and digs inside.

The desk in mainly empty, but fumbling around reveals a hidden catch at the back – he pushes against it and something clicks to reveal several slim rolls of parchment.

Most are to do with estate, a few details about Death Eater meetings, none of which Theo cares about – he rifles through them and at last finds something of consequence; a copy of his father's will.

The man had no choice but to leave ninety per cent of his wealth, plus Nott Estate, to Theo – his entailed heir – but he has left other bequests; five per cent goes to the Ministry, a generous sum in any event but one that assures he will stay in favour, one per cent to Lucius Malfoy – surprising in itself. Pureblood families rarely leave each other things of value in wills, but Theo supposes they _were_ very close friends, and two to St. Mungo's and Hogwarts each.

There is no mention of his wife's family, the Rosiers.

Not entirely surprised and well aware of his parents' rocky marriage, Theo picks up the last two scrolls – and flinches.

They _both_ interest him. The first is a letter from Cassiopeia Nott, nee. Rosier, to Antinous Nott. It appears to be in addition to her will – which detailed away her personal effects, as she had no property – and asks him to please do what is right for Theo.

He stares at it angrily, willing other words to appear, but they don't.

 _Why_ didn't his mother say something else? Why didn't she…

But she is dead, and he wasn't there for her when she was sick, and he just feels – awful. Despicable. Even worse, for screaming in her loving face and throwing away her legacy.

Himself.

The second is a letter from Cassiopeia Nott, nee. Rosier, to Theodore Nott. It doesn't say much, either, just tells him to be strong like she couldn't and to do what he thinks is best, because he has a good heart, and with that he sinks dazedly onto the ground and curls up in the foetal position because _his father kept this from him,_ carefully filed away untouched.

His mother thought he had a good heart. That he was stronger than her.

How sickeningly false.

Theo feels the Earth shift and gravity fades away.

Theo is thirty years old and holding his newborn son in his arms.

Daphne lies on the hospital bed, exhausted. Next to her, their three year old daughter tugs on her hand and beams, jumping up and down, and Theo remembers that time twenty seven years ago, in the drawing room at Nott Estate, and moves on.

The past is not something he's proud of, but it is dead and buried.

He sold the estate and moved into his flat, took his job and did well, becoming head of the department at age twenty-eight. Not quite as good as Potter… _Harry_ Potter, but nearly.

His daughter trips over towards him, and he smiles and shows her the baby, saying, "Cassie, meet Henry."

She is named after his mother, Cassiopeia, and his son is named after no one, because who said a name needed meaning? He likes it. Daphne likes it. Maybe 'Henry' can have a new meaning for them – a fresh start.

No one is named for his father. Antinous is Theo's middle name and he hopes it can die with him.

He loves Daphne – in a friendly way, he always has. There wasn't a fairytale romance for him, as perhaps exists in another time and place that Theo hasn't found yet, but there _was_ a ring given on a balcony at sunset and a wedding where she wore silver and Pansy and Astoria were the bridesmaids and Draco the best man. There _was_ the purchase of a generous house on the outskirts of London, with tall fireplaces to Floo and a warded garden where the kids can learn to play Quidditch, if they want to. (And, with Draco as godfather, that's more than likely.)

No, it wasn't a fairytale – she's no princess, and he certainly isn't a knight in shining armour. But they love each other, so that's okay.

They live, not for the future or the past, but for the moment.

And if that sounds cheesy – well, Theo blames the fact he's thirty.

Also, he's still alive.

 **In case you were wondering, the names I chose for Theo's parents do not have much significance. Cassiopeia is a commonly used name for Harry Potter Mary-Sues that I originally intended to use ironically, but then the plot changed and it just became a pureblood-ish name.**

 **However, if you want to get picky, Cassiopeia is a constellation which could maybe hint at one of her parents being a Black.**

 **Antinous comes from Greek mythology, but none of those with that name have any relation to Antinous Nott.**

 **And, if anyone's still reading… please R &R!**

 **(YES, I know I haven't updated my other stories in ages. I'm sorry. Updates are currently being worked on by me.)**

 **~thaliatheawesome**


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